


Possession

by Anonymous



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Femdom, Hate Sex, Pegging, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Situational Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feanor learns the hard way that Galadriel's not for the taking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

> For my Sex Toys square in [Season of Kink](http://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/8345.html) and also in answer to an kinkmeme prompt on FFA that asked for Feanor to be fucked 'six ways from Sunday'.

"You would demand my hair for your own desires?" Artanis' eyes were burning into him, and the look on her face was rage incarnate. The coveted hair was bound up into a long braid and wound around her head. She reached up and pulled out a pin or two, and the braid fell down, still secure. She pulled it over her shoulder and stalked toward Feanor menacingly. Feanor, startled, could not move from where he half-sat, half leaned against his desk, hadn't moved since she'd walked in. 

"If you wish for my hair, you may have this," she growled, and wound the long braid around his neck, deliberately, pulling the end tight. "Now speak for yourself, while you still can." 

Feanor swallowed, with difficulty. "I wish to catch your hair in a gem; to hold the beauty and glory of it in imperishable _silma_ forever. Your hair is beauteous beyond measure; I would hold that beauty in my hand."

Her eyes narrowed. "You wish to possess my beauty?" The braid around his neck tightened. "You would possess me?" 

He nodded, his eyes flickering up and down her body. "I would, Artanis. I would claim your beauty, enhance it, make it more glorious. In days to come, all would look upon us with joy at the wonder my hands would create upon your shining strands." He reached out a hand, brushed it gently down her cheek. "Does it not appeal, my lovely? To have all eyes gazing at you, the source of light itself, and at me, its molder and shaper?" 

"You have little foresight," she said, her eyes fixed on his. "For you shall not possess me, own me, or use me." A faint smile passed over her face. "And yet the same cannot be said of you, for I'll have all I wish of you." She shoved him back on to the desk, hard, and pushed his robes up. He let out a faint cry of protest, but the rope of her hair was still around his throat, and it drew fast, blocking speech. He was struggling for breath as she exposed him, and pushing aside his limp cock and balls, made for his hole. 

He did not know where she got the oil from but suddenly her fingers were pressing into him, much less painfully than he had feared. Her fingers thrust in and out and he was just beginning to fill, to catch his breath as white spots danced in front of his vision, when she withdrew from him, fumbling for a moment out of sight. 

She held up something golden, something that glittered in the light, and he realised to his surprise that it was some sort of phallus, cold and metal. 

"You are not the only one with skill at the forge," she said with a pleased grin, and pushed it into him. He let out an undignified yelp at the first intrusion, for it was as cold as it looked. 

"If all you love is the work of the forge, then that is all you shall have," she said, her face grim, thrusting the toy in and out of him. Against his own will he could feel himself getting aroused from it, hardening. Her hand that was holding the end of the braid let go, and moved to his cock instead, stroking him deftly in time with her thrusts into him. 

She was methodical and thorough, and his head fell back against the desk with a loud thump as he lost himself in sensation. She was speaking to him, softly now, and he could only catch a few words of it over the roaring in his ears. He felt unutterably limp, unable to move, unable to push her away even if he'd wanted to. 

"You wanton thing," she was saying. "I'll undo you easily enough. How easy it is, to possess you, to control you! How little you think of me if you think I would give over any part of myself to one so uncontrolled, so rash."

He was gasping, trying to come up with words, trying to refute what she was saying. But he could not find the breath or the words now, and the pounding of the phallus inside him was inexorable. He sobbed aloud, broken, and came, shuddering and breathless, against her hand. She made a disgusted noise, and wiped off the semen onto his robes, a long wet stain. 

She did not withdraw the phallus, but shoved it deep inside him, and left it there, stepping away. He was overwhelmed with humiliation as she turned to leave him lying there. 

"Think on this," she said, moving away from him, "next time you would dare ask for any part of me only to enhance your own glory. Think on this, and do not ask!" 

She left the room, and he did not hear the door close behind her. Sitting up with a groan, he realised her final humiliation was the door, left wide, for any to look in who cared to.


End file.
